The Third Brother
by dryswan79
Summary: Written as part of the Restricted Section challenge: write a romance story. It started out as a romance involving Ignotus Peverell but morphed to include some exposition on the Hallows.
1. 1219-1232

1219-1232

Seven year old Angharad had lived all her life in the same village in France with her father Clovis who ran the local apothecary. Unusually, the village itself was a mixture of magical and non-magical families, living alongside one another openly and quite happily for the most part. Angharad was the youngest of five siblings and the only girl, the boys ranged in age from 31 to 22 years old and all of them had moved away. Her mother Marguerite had called her daughter the blessing of her autumn years.

Marguerite was a powerful witch, but her powers had taken a toll on her and she had been growing gradually more and more frail as the years wore on. By the time Angharad was born in the year 1219, she was a pale, almost ghost-like, waif. She had always had an ethereal appearance with long silvery hair, bright sapphire eyes and a translucent complexion. She lived until her child was six months old and then, as peacefully as falling asleep, she passed away and beyond the veil.

Like her father, Angharad was tall with brown hair so dark it was almost black however her eyes were the sapphire eyes of her mother. She was an even-tempered girl but nonetheless a fiery defendant of those she loved.

Whenever Clovis was busy in the shop, preparing his remedies and treating his patients, she could be found either at her friend Zélie's house or her uncle's home.

Zélie was the daughter of Monsieur Foulque, the pompous village haberdasher. Two years older than Angharad, she was a girl who might be called plain were it not for her family's wealth and, although she had a great deal of intelligence and natural common sense, for the most part her only thoughts were of the latest fashions and how to attract the attention of the town mayor's eldest son, Béranger Cazergue. She was kind to Angharad, however her kindness had a tendency to express itself as a condescending pity which sorely tried Angharad's patience. Zélie had tried on many occasions to brew a love potion to use on the young man but to no avail, the only time she had succeeded in administering the draught, Béranger had been unconscious for a week.

As soon as she had turned 13, Monsieur Foulque had engaged a dowdy old witch of meagre powers as a governess for his daughter, however Zélie took an instant dislike to the woman she called Mademoiselle Sans Magie and did her best to avoid her at all costs. Angharad had attempted to reason with her friend but Zélie was headstrong and unwilling to listen. Finally, Zélie supposed that if the governess were to teach her, there was nothing to stop her teaching Angharad as well. Monsieur Foulque had never really approved of the friendship between his beloved daughter and the motherless child of the local physician but out of sheer exasperation he agreed and henceforth, the old woman taught both girls. Zélie herself took very little heed of her governess but Angharad was so interested in learning that her knowledge and understanding quickly outstripped that of the plain girl. As far as Zélie was concerned, if one were able to read and write and work some of the more genteel spells and enchantments, that was all a girl of her worth required. After all, she would never need any of the household spells used by the elves who scurried about her home, cleaning, fetching and carrying. Angharad feared that her friend was perhaps a little naïve but thought it best to say nothing.

Far above the haberdashery and the austere apothecary shop over which she and her father lived, Angharad preferred her Uncle Yvan's cottage. Yvan's house had no two stones alike and an untidy thatched roof long since in need of repairs. It was so different to her own home, always meticulously tidy and well ordered, Uncle Yvan suited his home and his home suited him. He was an energetic old man, his shock of hair was mostly white with patches of grey and a few hints of the bright red he had sported as a young man. He took pride in his wrinkles and at times disheveled appearance and possessed an inquisitive nature, delighting in the invention of all sorts of magical charms, gadgets and practical jokes.

-o-

The atmosphere in the village was changing. One morning Angharad and Zélie were in the haberdashery talking to the mayor's wife, Old Madame Thibeaud was having a quiet gossip with Madame Foulque while Monsieur Foulque and his apprentice arranged his wares in the shop window. Suddenly Capitaine Giraud entered followed by a couple of his junior officers. In the past, he had been jovial, happy to share a joke with the men and wink at the ladies. That day, however, his demeanour had altered beyond recognition. There was an uneasy silence as he walked slowly around the room, a supercilious sneer on his face. At a word, his young sergeant grabbed Madame Thibeaud's arm and dragged her from the shop.

"What are you doing?" cried Madame Cazergue.

"Following orders." replied Giraud "Based on evidence received, the old crone is under arrest for witchcraft and is to be tried immediately by Père Moulin."

With that, the law officer stalked out, bumping shoulders with Monsieur Foulque.

They looked at each other in shock. Monsieur Foulque turned to Angharad. "Go to your father and tell him to meet me at the church."

Word had spread about the arrest and dozens of villagers were in the street talking to each other. Clovis and Monsieur Foulque led an angry group of men to attend the farce of a trial.

Père Moulin was a Moldu, as non-magical people were called in France. He was a weak minded man, more interested in acquiring wealth for the upkeep of his little church than the spiritual welfare of his parishioners.

Marching into the church vestry, they saw Madame Thibeaud huddled in a chair, an ugly purple bruise on her cheek. Her hands were in chains and behind her were a half dozen armed officers. Clovis asked "On whose testimony do these charges rest?"

"On Mademoiselle Bastien de Villars." said Capitaine Giraud.

Monsieur Foulque snorted "Her? They have a lifelong dispute about the ownership of a cat and the fact that Monsieur Thibeaud married Madame Thibeaud. Have you any proof?"

Père Moulin looked at Giraud, uneasily "None, I must admit."

"In which case," said Clovis, leaning on the priest's desk "I suggest you release her."

"And if I refuse?" asked the Capitaine.

Clovis stood up and looked coldly at him.

Giraud shrugged, pulled a small bunch of keys from his pocket and threw them to the young officer standing next to the old woman. There was a hostile glint in his eye as the party left.

-o-

Shops and businesses owned by the magical community were attacked, threatening letters were sent and menacing warnings scrawled on walls around the village. Anxious residents began to leave, making for safer communities elsewhere, unfortunately, the situation was no different elsewhere in France.

The very worst moment of the unrest was the night when an unidentified individual set fire to Monsieur Foulque's shop. Thankfully, the family were able to get out of the house in time but the shop itself was completely destroyed.

-o-

The sky was still dark when Angharad, Clovis and Yvan crept into the bitterly cold night. As they reached the bottom of garden to climb over the wall and escape, they heard the unmistakable sounds of smashing glass and the front door of the apothecary being kicked open. With heavy hearts, they turned and left the only home they had ever known.

Apparition was a relatively new magical innovation and very few witches and wizards were keen to try it so the three of them walked all night. It was dawn by the time they reached a small field in which stood a low, scruffy house with a straggling line of people outside, each one looking more anxious and exhausted as the next. Young or old, alone or with family they slowly shuffled into the dilapidated building. As she got closer to the front, Angharad saw flashes of green and heard a whooshing sound. They reached the head of the queue and were faced with a large man, leaning against the fireplace and holding a large clay pot. He wore a sly smile and stretched out a hand to Clovis.

"Hand it over." He growled.

Clovis pulled a small leather pouch from an inside pocket of his cloak and tipped the contents into the outstretched palm.

His smile widened as he looked at the 15 gold coins Angharad's father had handed him.

"Times have changed. It's 25 now."

"What?" roared Yvan.

"You see? It's a question of supply and demand." said the unpleasant man, wrapping an arm around Yvan's shoulder, the sly smile still in place. "I supply the powder, you want it. Find more money or get out."

In the distance, they heard screams and explosions. The remainder of the people waiting outside tried to cram into the building, barring the door against the unknown assailant.

Taking advantage of the commotion, Yvan grabbed a large handful of the powder, flung it into the fireplace and together he, Clovis and Angharad jumped into the grate and the green flames, the men shouting "Godric's Hollow!".


	2. 1233-1234

1233-1234

The youngest of three brothers, he was at the same time similar to and quite different from his siblings.

At 25, Antioch was the image of his father, in face and temperament. Neither of them was interested in subduing the muggle world but both were strong wizards, always desiring more power. Mrs Peverell's subtle encouragements to settle down had gone unnoticed, the young man steadfastly ignored the attentions of some of the more adoring village girls who tried to catch his eye each time he stirred out of doors.

Cadmus was 22 years old and took strongly after his mother, perhaps not in physical appearance, but in his character. His magical powers may well have been considered as equal to Antioch's if not indeed superior. However he was a sensitive child and very easily swayed by his emotions. He was extremely susceptible to flattery and his parents were forever concerned that an unscrupulous woman could easily take advantage of his sympathetic nature.

Ignotus was a happy combination of both. He recognised the usefulness of magic but saw no reason to grasp for what could be obtained only through force or combat and, while not a cold or unfeeling boy, he was not prey to his thoughts.

It was clear to even the most casual observer that Mr and Mrs Peverell were very fond of all of their children but it was chiefly the two elder boys who occupied the greater part of their concerns. This is not to say that young Ignotus felt himself disregarded or overlooked, he was happy in his independence.

Antioch and Cadmus had forever been in a hurry, wanting to acquire knowledge without devoting any time to actual learning. They had decided that they no longer required their tutor, Ignotus however was very fond of the old gentleman who had taken such pains to educate them, not only in the basics of reading, writing and arithmetic but had also shared with them his extensive magical experience. When lessons were concluded for that day, he would often take himself off either to read in the family library if the weather were foul or walk through the picturesque village if the weather were fair.

One morning, Ignotus had promised his mother to call on Mr Hopkins, the Godric's Hollow apothecary, to collect some remedies for the recurring headaches which plagued her and Cadmus. Entering the shop, he saw Clovis working in the back room. Ignotus remembered when the man had arrived with his brother-in-law and daughter. Clovis and Yvan were able to communicate in English, albeit brokenly and with a heavy accent, but the girl spoke not one word of the language. In fact, reflected Ignotus, he did not recall ever having heard the girl speaking at all.

She was five years younger than him and still as wary of her neighbours as the day she arrived. He knew of her rather than knew her as she never seemed to stir out of doors but stayed hidden away. It was weeks before he even learned her name.

It quickly became clear to Angharad that her father and uncle had been planning their escape for some time. They had managed to secure a home and, for Clovis at least, a job. After years of running his own apothecary single handed, it was a blow to be spending his days as though he were an ignorant apprentice. Mr Hopkins was a kind man and although he could not afford to pay Clovis a large salary, the small amount he could pay was just enough to put food on the table.

Thankfully, magic had meant that they could bring many of their belongings with them, full trunks shrunk to fit in their pockets. Angharad had been dismayed on seeing their new house for the first time. Grubby, cracked windows, an inch of dust on every surface, uneven floors, a dark narrow staircase and chimneys which were long overdue a good sweeping. They had set to work and in a few days, the house began to feel more like home.

More than anything, Angharad missed the people from her village, Zélie in particular. She wondered where her friend was now, hopefully she had survived but the scraps of news they had heard from France were not encouraging. Nothing in Godric's Hollow was familiar and while there were plenty of children of Angharad's age, there was the language barrier. Her father was attempting to teach her some basic English but on the few occasions she had tried to speak it, the inability to make herself understood was so disappointing that she simply stopped trying. It didn't help that she was outgrowing her clothes and that they had no money to replace them. Even purchasing food enough for the three of them was becoming difficult, until Yvan took up employment with a local farmer.

Farmer Gregg, a cheerful muggle, was delighted with his new employee who was just as happy sitting in a dry barn as out in a field in the pouring rain. Somehow since his arrival, the cows yielded more milk, there were more eggs than usual to be collected every morning and the fleeces of his prized sheep were of such high quality that they fetched a better price at market than those of his closest rival. As he kept saying to his wife at the end of the day over a foaming tankard of ale, it was just like magic.

Having made his purchases, Ignotus turned to leave the apothecary and nearly collided with Angharad. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, dark sapphire eyes looking up into hazel brown ones.

The girl mumbled something inaudibly and almost ran behind the counter and out of sight. Ignotus stared after her. One look was all it had taken. For both of them.

-o-

Later that evening at dinner, Ignotus mentioned bumping into Angharad.

"Oh the poor dear." said his mother, rather insincerely "One might think she would take greater care."

"She should certainly take care of her appearance." snorted Antioch. "Looks like she's been dragged through a hedge most of the time."

"It's very sad." murmured Cadmus tearfully "The loss of her mother and then being forced to flee her home. Very sad indeed." He sniffed and wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve, while his father rolled his eyes at the display.

Angharad was no fool. She was perfectly aware of what the more unkind members of the local population thought of her, even if she couldn't fully understand what they were saying. She had always been handy with a needle and thread and so had managed to make do and mend many of her outfits; turning fabric inside out, cutting up some spoiled dresses to make new ones; but there comes a point when the cloth is simply too old and faded to be put to any use.

When not taking excellent care of Farmer Gregg's flocks, foxes and wolves did not dare approach his lands these days, Yvan still loved to invent. He didn't seem to mind that the neighbours called him Crazy Yvan. Ignotus was keen to make his acquaintance, not only in the hope of meeting Angharad, but also because he had a creative mind as well.

He was walking past Angharad's house when there was a muffled explosion from inside. A small hand opened an upstairs window and he heard a laugh and a sweet voice "Mais tonton, je t'avais bien dit que ça n'allait pas marcher!*"

"Bah. Tant pis! Une autre fois? On ne peut pas gagner à tous les coups!**" Yvan replied cheerfully.

Ignotus stood as though transfixed. No music he had ever heard was as beautiful as Angharad's laughter.

* * *

*"But uncle, I told you it wouldn't work!"

**"Oh well, never mind. Another time? You can win every time!"


	3. 1235-1238

1235-1238

While Angharad was now able to fully understand English, she was still hesitant to speak, unless it was to some of the younger children in the village. Alice Webb, the young daughter of the Godric's Hollow haberdasher, had attached herself to Angharad ever since she had rescued one of the little girl's favourite dolls from a puddle and made a new outfit to replace the mud stained one out of a selection of fabric offcuts from Mr Webb.

At Alice's persistent request, Angharad had in fact cut out and stitched new dresses and coats for all her dolls and even some of those owned by Alice's friends. The haberdasher was very fond of the young French witch and gladly donated scraps of cloth, not caring what she did with the leftovers.

What she did was experiment.

-o-

Ignotus had always had a knack for science and alchemy and, since neither his parents nor his brothers seemed to show the slightest interest, he fell into conversation with Yvan who was delighted to find someone who shared his enthusiasm on the subject.

Yvan had asked Ignotus to come to his workroom, he had something exciting to show him.

Clouds of blue smoke billowed out through the door when Ignotus opened it.

"Ah! There you are, mon cher garçon. Come and to see what I work on." Yvan beckoned him over to the table.

Ignotus stared. "You're making magic wands? Are you sure it's a good idea?"

Yvan looked affronted "Not _all_ of my inventions explode."

"Were you a wandmaker in France?"

"No, Aubin Jousseaume was the great master in France. But his wands they are expensive and his rival wandmakers they never seem to last very long. I experiment to see whether other magical ingredients will work. But to this point, nothing has given a success. And many things I have tried. The latest is the sting of the billiwig."

Ignotus was looking at Yvan's bench, not only were there stacks of beautifully carved, yet utterly useless, wands, there, in a neatly folded pile, were pieces of cloth left there by Angharad. One of them seemed to be twinkling with stars like a dark night but as he reached out to touch it, Yvan caught his wrist and gave a small shake of his head.

"So." Said Ignotus, changing the subject "What else have you tried? Have you considered, I don't know, unicorns or phoenixes?"

Yvan laughed "And from where does young Monsieur think Crazy Yvan will find money for such a thing? I make a list of the magic creatures and go in the order alphabetic. The Kelpie and Kneazle, they come next."

Ignotus looked as the scrap of paper with Yvan's untidy handwriting. "Yvan, please tell me you haven't been messing around with Acromantulas."

"Hey-oh! I may be Crazy but I'm not stupid!"

As Ignotus walked home, he thought about Yvan's list and about one creature in particular. Thestrals.

-o-

It was the dead of winter in Godric's Hollow. Clovis was grateful for magic during this season, he would never have been able to afford wood for a real fire, but as Yvan was permitted to bring home some of the more organic fuel from the barns, the small rooms were warm enough.

Ignotus had been plotting for months for a way of getting Angharad's attention and with winter came snow and ice. He was walking down the main street when he spotted the girl. She was carrying a small bundle from Mr Webb and making her way to the alley which led to her house. Following her, he cast a quick ice charm on the surface of the alley and ducked behind a wall. She was about to step on it when she took a closer look. She and Yvan had cleared the alley that morning of the previous night's snow fall and since there had been no more snow or rainfall, there was no reason for the sheet of slippery ice which lay before her. Glancing around to make sure no-one was watching, she cast a non-verbal melting spell and walked briskly to the house without even getting her feet wet.

Once inside, she closed the door and smiled. The brown eyed boy would have to work harder than that to catch her out.

-o-

Ignotus had mentioned to Antioch and Cadmus that Yvan had been turning his hand to wand manufacture. While they greeted the news with the derision Ignotus had expected, Antioch in particular began to wonder aloud how one might go about creating a wand which would be guaranteed to beat all others.

Warily, his youngest brother asked why he should want such a thing.

"Oh well." said Antioch smoothly "One never knows when it might be of use." The next day, Antioch concealed himself near Yvan's home and waited until the old man had left for the day to work on the farm. Creeping into the workshop, he made a copy of all Yvan's notes on wandlore and manufacture, and without delay set out to search for any feathers or hairs which might help him achieve his goal.


	4. 1239-1242

1239-1242

Mrs Peverell began to despair of her sons ever choosing a settled life and was starting to consider whether in fact it would be easier simply to arrange matches. She had given up on Antioch marrying, he had been gone for months without any word and in such dangerous times, he may well be in mortal peril and they would know nothing until it was too late.

She considered that, by arranging for wives herself it would at least avoid Cadmus and Ignotus choosing inappropriate brides. She was aware of her youngest's fascination, perhaps even obsession, with the French witch. As far as she knew, though, the girl was respectable and of good parentage so the only factor to her disadvantage was her lack of wealth.

Cadmus had become increasingly secretive, leaving the house early and returning late, a scruffy little owl was seen more than once circling the house. His father did not wish to pry into his son's affairs but the absences combined with certain applications to his parents for money were a cause for concern. Although Ignotus may have had his suspicions, most of the family was completely unaware that Cadmus had secretly married a pretty but foolish girl with more magic than sense.

-o-

Clovis and Yvan were worried. They both knew Angharad so well that she could hide nothing from them, including the fact that despite having barely spoken to him in all the years they had lived in the village, she had lost her heart to her uncle's handsome young friend.

She knew that she loved him and suspected that he was not indifferent to her but she also knew that his family might not approve of a union between Ignotus and the poor apothecary's daughter.

-o-

Magic could go a long way to preserving health and healing most ailments, but it could not cure all. Especially not the kinds of plague which regularly ravaged the rural population.

In spite of all his knowledge and wisdom, Clovis was one of the first to succumb. He was so attentive in his care of those around him, whether or not they were of magical blood, and while many of the sick did in time recover, the man himself was so exhausted from all his exertions that he could fight no more.

He did not suffer long and he was quite prepared for his death. The muggle priest directed his sexton to have a grave dug and not 10 hours after Clovis' passing, he was consigned to the earth for his longest sleep. Angharad remained alone by the graveside, the pain and loss too deep even for tears, indeed she may not have wept at all had it not been for Ignotus walking through the church yard and standing beside her. They did not speak or touch and yet the knowledge that the man standing beside her shared her grief was enough for her.

The following day, Mrs Peverell chose to visit Angharad and invited her to stay for a time at the Peverell house, but she kindly declined the invitation. She felt that the shroud of death hung around her and she was reluctant to impose on a family she considered as friends and yet as strangers.

Angharad had taken her father's place at the apothecary and spent all her waking moments preparing the remedies to give strength to patients recovering from the plague or peace to aid the passing of those for whom the disease was too much. When she heard that someone in the Peverell family was failing, she packed as many of the medicines as she could and ran to the house, desperately hoping that it was not Ignotus and if it were, that she would not be too late.

In fact, it was his mother who had been brought low by the plague and, although it was a long struggle, through tender care Mrs Peverell recovered.


	5. 1243-1246

1243-1246

One morning in late 1243, Cadmus informed his family that he would be leaving for a short time. Only a few days, he assured them. He was a grown man so his parents could hardly prevent him but it was an anxious father who bid his son safe travels.

A fortnight later, he returned a broken man, and moreover, with a child. He had always assumed that his family would disown him and refuse to receive his wife. If he had only trusted his parents, he would have known that even if they had disagreed with his choice of bride, they would nonetheless have respected his decision. As it was, it was difficult to decide whether to remonstrate with him for his ill advised choice or sympathise with him in his suffering. He was inconsolable and the presence of his tiny son in the house did nothing to brighten his mood, it was almost as if he resented that the child's birth had brought about his wife's death.

-o-

There seemed to be an ongoing good natured feud between Angharad and Ignotus. Neither wanted to be the first to reveal their sentiments although it was well known enough between them and their immediate family – to the consternation of Mrs Peverell in particular. She was not an ambitious woman, but she wanted the best for Ignotus and she knew little about Angharad.

Angharad and Ignotus themselves each felt that they could never hope to be happy or live a full life without the other.

To the wider world, it seemed that the young people were attempting to at least be civil to each other.

During the snowy months, Ignotus could not set foot out of doors without snow drifts mysteriously falling on him. Angharad found a duck in her kitchen which refused to be dislodged and quacked loud enough to wake the entire street, not even a muffling charm around the house seemed to work. It did however make an excellent roast.

Whenever Ignotus tried to find his shoes at home they would scurry away out of his grasp and hide under furniture. Angharad's hair, which was already long, began to grow unnaturally fast – on one occasion, over six feet in length as she slept.

On and on it went and it was not until a genuine accident befell Ignotus that the situation finally resolved itself.

A drayer's cart laden with barrels of beer was trotting smartly through the village when one of the wheels broke off, flying towards to a group of children playing happily in the street, unaware of the approaching danger. While he managed to push the children to safety, he remained in the path of the wheel which struck him in the chest, knocking him unconscious. One of the children, in floods of tears, ran to the apothecary to fetch help. The blood drained from Angharad's face as she hurried to Ignotus. The damage was significant and she knew that, if they remained in the street, she would not be able to use magic to heal him. A couple of strong villagers who were passing carefully carried him to the apothecary and set him down gently on a couch in the back room.

Once she was sure they were alone, she cast her spells and administered the remedies with magical properties including a strong dose of a dreamless sleep potion. The internal injuries were healed in an instant but, in order not to allay suspicion, she was obliged to leave some of the more gory external ones. Her work complete and the life of the man she loved saved, she sank down on the floor next to him and wept with relief. The very possibility that she might have lost him forever was too much to bear in composure.

So it was that Mr and Mrs Peverell found them. It took Angharad some time to reassure them that their beloved child had come to no lasting harm but the gratitude they both felt towards the young woman was without limit.

The general consensus was that the young couple had waited long enough and should be married at the earliest opportunity. However, for a short time, Ignotus was obliged to act the part of a man who had bravely stood at death's door, protecting innocent children and incurring injuries which would take a great deal of time to heal.

Many of the witches and wizards in Godric's Hollow attended the parish church for the daily and weekly offices only so as not to be conspicuous. Had they but known it, the merry elderly priest with a twinkle in his eye was a squib and the quality of the Eucharistic wine tasted by his magical flock was infinitely superior to that administered to the muggles.

On a sunny late summer day, beaming with pride, Yvan led his young niece to the altar and with no little emotion bestowed her hand upon the youngest Peverell son.

Mrs Peverell and Angharad quickly became very fond of each other, indeed Mrs Peverell relied on Angharad and was always anxious and distracted when the young woman was absent too long. It was a source of great delight to Yvan and the Peverells when Ignotus and Angharad's first child was born, a healthy boy with a strong pair of lungs. Old Mr Peverell thought both grandsons excellent little fellows and Mrs Peverell and Angharad had quite the time of it discouraging the gentleman to feed the boys all manner of sweetmeats.

-o-

Hundreds of miles away, Antioch looked at the list the village idiot had made. Billiwigs? Chizpurfles, hinkypunks and redcaps? Did he really think those would work, the old fool?

He knew that unicorns, dragons and phoenixes provided wand cores but what else? His instinct told him that a thestral would be a powerful creature. The only flaw being that most people cannot see them. It was well known that only those who had seen death could see thestrals.

"Oh well," thought Antioch, callously "Only one thing for it."

On his travels he picked fights with wizards he happened to meet, some on the most trivial premise. Most put up a fight and it was only when he had managed to kill a weak old wizard who had downed more firewhiskey than was good for him that the young man achieved his aim.

Now all that remained was to find the beast.

Back in Godric's Hollow, Cadmus was still wallowing in his grief, taking no interest in his child. Unbeknownst to him, his parents and younger brother had cast a preservation charm on him. No matter how he tried to end his life, it was to no avail. Ropes snapped, poisons stolen in the dead of night from the apothecary turned out to be harmless potions or powders and when he had attempted to drown himself in a nearby stream, the course of the water simply moved to avoid him. Sat on the dry riverbed, he wept bitterly, picking up stones and flinging them into the water.

He was holding a tiny black pebble, almost square in shape, when he had an idea. For the first time in many months, he smiled and slowly returned home, stopping off for an idle conversation with Yvan on the way.

His family was relieved when his thoughts seemed to take a more cheerful turn, however, had they known what he was trying to do, their worry would have increased tenfold.

-o-

It was only in a remote country north of England that Antioch managed to find a herd of thestrals.

Scratched and bruised, he made off with a hand full of tail hair. Next, he had to choose the wood. He had observed more notes in Yvan's workshop which he assumed concerned the different properties of wood but since the man wrote in French and a kind of indecipherable shorthand, Antioch could only guess at what Yvan had been writing.

It was around this time that the fatal illness had ravaged the village, and his brother's wife died. The family owl, knowing always where Antioch could be found, arrived with a letter for him.

It was from his father, telling him not only of the perilous state of health of his mother but also of his brother's depression. His father stated that, as the elder brother, his responsibility was to his family rather than gallivanting off on whatever hair-brained scheme had taken his fancy this time.

Elder, thought Antioch. How about that. He ignored his parent's plea and travelled to London, seeking out Garrick Ollivander's latest apprentice, a poor young man and easily swayed by the promise of wealth. Antioch bribed him heavily and visited the shop only when he was certain the proprietor was absent.

Finally he received word that the wand was ready. In the middle of the night, he crept up Diagon Alley. The wand was beautiful. Elegantly carved and tapering towards the tip. With an avaricious glint in his eye, the apprentice held out a hand for the gold he had been promised.

"Too hasty." said Antioch. "I need to know whether this wand will do as you swear it will."

At the man's behest, the apprentice brought from the workroom the wands he had prepared for sale in the shop. They had yet to be tested by Mr Ollivander but his pupil was a skilled craftsman and all the wands were in perfect working order. One by one, Antioch dueled them until each was obliterated and lying in a smoking heap on the floor.

The smile which grew upon his face scared the apprentice and when the wizard turned to look at him, brandishing the Elder Wand, he took to his heels. He did not, unfortunately, get very far.

When Mr Ollivander entered the work room early the next morning it was to find the broken wands on the table, the apprentice slumped on the floor. No-one ever discovered the cause of his death.

Antioch himself was unconcerned at the killing. "After all", he reasoned "Once you've done one, what does another matter?". The feeling that he held the power of death in his hand was intoxicating.

-o-

Hiding away in an unused attic, Cadmus' were proving unsuccessful until a chance remark from Yvan.

"Well my young man" Yvan had said, in an effort to cheer him "So long as a remembrance of the dead remains with the living, they shall not fully perish."

Returning home, he took a lock of hair which his deceased love had bestowed on him, and hammered the stone he had found until it split into unequal halves. Cadmus carved a small cavity in the centre and placed her hair into it, then reformed the stone with a difficult forging charm. He marveled at his handiwork, the stone looked as good as new, and he decided that he would attempt his plans on the stroke of midnight.

The parish sexton was not a good sleeper and purposely never oiled the squeaky gate to the graveyard, leaving his bedroom window ajar so he would be able to hear intruders. Through the lodge window he could just make out shadows and, taking up his dark lantern, he stole out of the house. As he rounded the corner unobserved he was shocked to see Cadmus Peverell, a shovel in hand, unearthing a shabby coffin. Tearing the lid away and sobbing uncontrollably, Cadmus seized the stone from his pocket, clasped it tightly in one hand, took his wand in the other and muttered an incantation under his breath.

In horror, the sexton watched as the girl he had recently buried seemed to return to life and rise to her feet. Her flesh seemed as intact as if she still lived and she wore the simple shift in which she had been dressed for her eternal sleep. Her face however was bloodless and wore an expression of infinite sadness. Her life had ended in pain and from the deep and comfortable peace of death she had been dragged, unwilling, back to the world of the living.

-o-

Yvan was no fool, sitting before a roaring fire, he reflected on his recent conversations with Cadmus and, in a moment of clarity, realised the boy's intentions. Not stopping even to fetch a coat, he ran to the church yard and arrived on the scene only moments after the sexton.

The distraught widower was overjoyed to see his wife again, she did indeed seem to be breathing but as he tried to embrace her, he saw that she was but a shadow of her former self and, as the early morning mists are blown away on a breeze, so did she fade, returning to the rest afforded her by her early grave. With an anguished cry, Cadmus fell to the ground, insensible.

Seizing the earliest opportunity, Yvan escorted the sexton back to his home and cast a quick memory charm on the man. If he remembered anything about the events, he would simply put it down to a very realistic dream.

Cadmus himself was borne home to the care of his family but nothing could be done, his attachment to life had gone and three days later, he was laid to rest beside his wife.

Yvan, Ignotus and Angharad sat in the workshop, looking at the small black stone Cadmus had been clutching until his death.

"What should we do?" asked Angharad.

"Will it still work, do you think?" asked Ignotus.

"My head, it says no. The stone should not work for it contains only the elements of its creator and his woman. My heart? It does not agree. However, all my spells, all my knowledge has not succeeded in destroying the stone."

They decided it would be be best to put it away, to be given to Cadmus' son only when and if he were able to understand the magnitude of his father's creation.


	6. 1247-

1247-

Even after all the time which had passed, the love and joy she shared with Ignotus and the additions to their family, Angharad still thought of Zélie.

To her surprise and delight, a letter arrived from Zélie herself, announcing her imminent arrival in England. The years had not been kind to Zélie. Gone was the happy and carefree girl, the woman was a bundle of nerves, apt to jump at loud noises and sharp voices. It took Angharad many months, but Zélie finally disclosed her history since the women had parted company.

Angharad had known that France had not been a safe haven when she had fled, she also knew that Zélie and her family had taken flight. Apparently they had become itinerant workers, travelling from place to place but never settling. Once her parents had both died from either exhaustion or sickness, the poor girl was left alone and destitute until a handsome Croatian by the name of Gregorović had taken an interest in her. For the first few years of her marriage, she had lived like a queen, happy and indulged. The man's discontent grew as his young wife produced nothing but daughters who perished one by one in spite of their mother's ceaseless care and only once she had borne him a son was she received back by her cold-hearted husband. Zélie's son was too much like his father, disliking her very presence in his room and refusing any contact with her, and as soon as was practicable, Gregorović dismissed her, giving her orders never to return.

The friendship and consolation she received in Godric's Hollow were of infinite value to Zélie, but her spirit had been broken and one day, in the cold light of dawn, the woman drew her last breath. Angharad's gentleness and comfort eased Zélie's passing and the only regret the dying woman had was that she had not been more aware of her husband's character before binding herself to him and providing him with an heir.

Witnessing her friend's unhappiness made Angharad appreciate and value her husband and her family even more. She tended with infinite love and care both her son and nephew and was overjoyed at watching them grow into fine, strong boys. They watched over Cadmus' son who, while being a thoughtful and empathetic child, did not show any of the sentimental melancholy which had so plagued his father.

Angharad and Ignotus' inquisitiveness never ceased and they were both delighted with their many inventions, irrespective of whether or not they actually worked. After many years, their casual experiments on fabric resulted in what could only be described as a cloak of invisibility, however when they realised that any unscrupulous person owning the cloak could commit a crime and steal away unnoticed, they put it away to be handed to their son when he was old enough.

They grew old and grey together and when death parted them, they felt no sorrow.


End file.
